


Soft

by hiddenlongings



Series: Sleeping in the Stacks [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenlongings/pseuds/hiddenlongings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Quiet' and 'Bare'.  John gathers his courage and goes back to the library.  Thankfully he's got two pairs of shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft

Title: Soft 

 

Rating: PG 

 

Story Warnings: light M/M, pining, angst 

 

Relationships: John Reese/Harold Finch

 

Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch

 

Summary: This is a sequel to ‘Quiet’ and ‘Bare’

 

A/N: So Bear is completely absent from this fic. I don’t know where he is. *feels bad man*

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The fact that he had two pairs of dress shoes was small solace for John.

 

Leaving his shoes and socks behind as he ran away from Finch like a child was humiliating; the fact that Finch hadn’t even tried to contact him since then made him want to curl back up into a bottle and never come out.

 

It was the next afternoon and, although John had been accused of many things cowardice was not generally one of them, as he slunk back into the library.

 

John could hear the clickety clack of keys as he slipped up the stairs and he had to drag in a deep inhalation of air as he fought with himself before he regained control.

 

He could do this, it was only his exhaustion and abrupt awakening that had broken his usual stoicism.

 

Stepping up the steps, John kept his stride quick and light. No hesitation. He needed to keep his equilibrium and hopefully Finch would just pass off what happened as a one-off that wouldn’t be repeated.

 

He strode into the room and pulled even with the desk and its empty chair. Head swivelling alertly John kept his breath from catching with an effort as he took in the changes that had been wrought in the large room.

 

The empty bookshelves that had previously allowed him visual access to Harold’s legs had been completely filled in. He didn’t really want to think about how much effort and discomfort the older man had went through to make sure of that.

 

Embarrassment fought with shame in his chest as he took in the evidence in front of him. A small end tables contents caught his attention next and John grimaced as he stepped forward to pick up his shoes, each one containing a neatly rolled sock. They’d been freshly polished.

 

“Mr. Reese.”

 

Finch’s voice was quiet in the darkened room, John had to turn his startled jump into a smooth turn that let him face the older man.

 

He was standing by the stacks, as beautifully dressed as ever. John let his eyes drop, this was generally a good tactic. Whoever was pissed at him thought he was ceding authority to them and he could get a good look at their legs without seeming creepy.

 

Although the fact that legs turned him on as much as they did probably placed him firmly in that category. He refused to feel shame for what he liked, but he should probably be ashamed of what he was doing.

 

Finch had more or less explicitly told him to stop what he was doing.

 

Brown shoes. Mmm leather. As brightly polished as the black pair, though the rich mahogany didn’t reflect images as well.

 

“Finch.”

 

The slender legs stepped towards him, too close.

 

John wrenched his eyes up and shied away from the hand that he could see coming towards him. He could block any incoming blow that Finch could think of but it would probably hurt the smaller man. He really didn’t want to do that.

 

“Really, Mr. Reese?” Harold’s voice scolded as he kept his arm moving towards him until he grasped the taller man’s arm. The pressure was butterfly light and warm enough to leave a bar of heat across his bicep.

 

“Sit down.”

 

Finch had led him to the small couch, leather again, and John let the slight increase in pressure lead him down into the seat.

 

Finch loomed over him for once. His bright eyes peered out from behind his glasses as he stared down at John, as though he were a problem in need of a solution.

 

“You look tired Mr. Reese. Trouble sleeping at the loft?”

 

John started to gather his feet underneath him again, before he could manage it Finch gave him a hard shove that sent him tumbling back into the couches cool embrace. 

 

“Stay put. It seems we need to have a conversation.”

 

“Don’t see what for.” John drawled, letting his arms drape over the back of the couch and his legs sprawl open.

 

“I’ve spoken, I would say is the best word, to the Machine. It seems you have interesting sleeping habits Mr. Reese.”

 

John let his eyes droop low to try and cover up any reaction he might give away.

 

“Keeping an eye on me Harold?”

 

“She keeps an eye on everyone Mr. Reese, she just chooses to generally keep private information to herself.”

 

“Until you ask her apparently.” John’s tone strove towards acidic and barely reached heated.

 

“Every three days,” Harold continued ignoring that last jab, “you slip into the library at 2 or 3 in the morning, numbers allowing. You generally stay until I take a tea break around 10. It seems despite training and paranoia respectively we are both men of habit”

 

“Should I apologize?”

 

“No, Reese, but I do think you should explain.”

 

“Easier to sleep. Library’s as secure a location as its possible for it to be.”

 

“Hmm, true perhaps though no the whole truth.”

 

“I never promised you absolute honesty.”

 

“No, I guess you didn’t. However I do believe that I deserve a more complete explanation. Besides the Machine seems to believe that you don’t actually go to sleep until I have been sitting at the desk for several minutes; judging by your breathing pattern. I can infer from that, and the direct view that the curiously empty shelves gave you of me, that it is my presence rather than the library that lets you sleep.”

 

Damn him anyways. John let his features drift from passive to cold as Finch tore him to pieces, politely of course. Harold stayed implacably in front of him, hands ready to push him back down into the low slung couch.

 

Only escape was through Harold, unacceptable. On the other hand if he dove off and to the side he could probably make good his escape before the injured man could catch up to him. Of course then he could look forward to this conversation again and again until Harold got the answers that he was demanding.

 

“Keyboard makes for good white noise.”

 

“Also true, how about the rest of it?”

 

“Damn it, Finch! Get the hell out of my way.”

 

“No. The rest of it.”

 

All of John’s muscles had been tightening as he was cornered and he exploded from the couch and slipped between Harold’s outstretched arms.

 

John leaned in close, inhaling deeply, taking in the smoky spicy scent of Harold’s cologne as he gently curved one of his hands around Harold’s jaw and leaned down until he had pressed his lips firmly against Harolds’.

 

The lips stayed slack, parted in surprise, for several long breathless moments where John felt his heart begin to tumble from his chest down to his stomach. John jerked his face away as though his lips had been burnt.

 

Harold’s eyes were huge and his face was pale enough that John couldn’t suppress a flinch.

 

Two questions answered then; both Harold’s and his own.

 

John pulled away even further and started to make another hasty retreat for the door, although this time he thought it would be a permanent one.

 

A hand wrapping itself tightly around John’s wrist jerking him back and twisting him around with surprising force.

 

Harold’s face had snapped free from his frozen shock and John nearly gulped at the blown pupils and the ruddy color that was starting to rise up in the older man’s cheeks.

 

“Well then,” Harold said quietly. “That explains quite a bit Mr...John.”

 

Harold grabbed the lapel of John’s jacket and brought him down to his level again before pressing his lips hard against Johns.

 

John dove in helplessly, swiping his tongue across Harold’s in one instant and biting his thin lower lip gently the next. He let his body surge forward again, letting himself almost curl around the smaller man, trying to encircle everything. Keep him close and safe.

 

John finally had to pull back to take a deep breath but a hand on his chest kept him from returning for another kiss.

 

“Stop, John, we need to talk about this.”

 

John growled low in his throat before he dropped to his knees and began to scrabble at Harold’s button and fly.

 

“Stop!”

 

John flinched away from the sharp tone and looked up pleadingly at Harold.

 

“Come on Harold. I’ll make it good for you, so good. Call me anything, I can be anyone you want.”

 

Harold let one of his hands card through the short salt and pepper hair before he grabbed the strands hard pulling John’s head back until his neck was arched sharply backwards.

 

“John.”

 

John forced his shoulders to relax and he bent to the pressure hiding any flicker of pain that the position might have caused.

 

“Come on.”

 

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

 

John let his mouth fall open and he licked his lips.

 

“Let me suck you then. Quick and easy for you. One time or whenever you want.”

 

Harold leaned forward and kissed John gently again, not letting the agile tongue enter his mouth and pulling away after a chaste moment.

 

“I do want you John. You. When we make love, I will not be imagining you as anyone but yourself and it will be more than wonderful I’m sure.”

 

“But you don’t trust me.” Harold smothered John’s protest. “Not yet at least. So today nothing is going to happen. You’re also exhausted, so what I really want you to do is lay down on the couch and sleep for as long as you like. No sneaking away.”

Harold stepped away from John’s kneeling form and he opened a small cubby in the end table pulling out a blanket and a small pillow.

 

John took them hesitantly, sharp eyes puzzled as he tried to figure out what scam Finch was playing now.

 

Finch gently pushed John towards the couch again and the tall man pulled himself up on it, drawing the blanket around him and slipping the pillow beneath his cheek.

 

John settled in, he had no intention of sleeping. The couch was very comfortable, sagging and worn so that it neatly swallowed up its occupants keeping them encased in fragrant leather and softly padded in all of the best ways.

 

Harold kept watch until he was satisfied before he returned to his chair at the computer desk and pulling up a screen began to type almost immediately.

 

This view was something else entirely from the stolen glances that John had managed to gather from the stacks. He could see the rise and fall of Harold’s shoulders as he worked on a particularly challenging piece of code. Since he was facing Harold’s side he also had an almost unobstructed view of the man’s legs. 

 

Minutes passed and Harold’s typing and the relaxed expression that stole across his face as he dove into another world made John curl up a little tighter. 

 

This was just pity. Harold would lead him on long enough to get whatever he needed from him and then he’d be tossed to the wayside.

 

Harold stopped typing for a moment to look over at John, face soft and lips smiling gently as he met the younger man’s eyes.

That didn't look like pity, that looked like...

 

“Sleep John. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

And John, did.


End file.
